Saving Stilinski

The Exorcism

Gerard Argent leaned against the van and smiled at the scene before him: Stiles Stilinski, a wounded and bleeding Optimalpha, kneeling on Scott McCall's front lawn and begging Deucalion not to hurt Lydia Martin, who was possessed by Peter Hale. "I'm a healer, right?" Stiles reminded Deucalion. "Scott's bite gave me the abilities of a healer, a warrior, a guardian, a virgin and a philosopher, right? Let me try, please. Let me try to get Peter out of her. Please."

Deucalion's blind eyes looked up at Gerard for permission. The elderly hunter shrugged. "If he agrees to come quietly. The ride might as well be pleasant."

Deucalion returned his attention to Lydia. He tightened his grip on her throat and forced her to her knees in front of Stiles. She coughed as Peter tried to speak through her. Whether to beg or bargain, no one cared. Peter would be gone by either Stiles' abilities or Deucalion's claws. Either way. "Thirty seconds," Deucalion told Stiles. "I'll give you thirty seconds to exorcise Hale from her body. Then you're coming with us, and she's dead."

Sweat slid down Stiles' chest and stung when it touched the knife wound. He leaned forward until he was staring right into Lydia's eyes – unfamiliar eyes, eyes tainted by the Darach's power. Not knowing what else to do, not knowing anything at all, really, Stiles cupped her white face between his shaking, blood-stained hands. He remembered what Deaton taught him: just believe. Stiles shut his eyes and summoned the memory of the mountain ash but, instead of letting it flow out of his hands, he imagined it coming into his body. His eyelids parted. Water hung from his eyelashes. Lydia's eyes were a blazing blue and she squirmed in Deucalion's grip – squirmed away from Stiles' hands. It looked like black snakes slithered from Lydia's body to Stiles'. Black rivulets that expanded beyond their blood vessels and felt like spiked ice cubes piercing his skin.

A second passed. Two more followed it. The blue in Lydia's eyes faded. And then Stiles heard Peter Hale's voice shouting curses inside of his own head. Instinct kicked in, and Stiles pushed Hale back into Lydia. Her eyes flashed blue again, and Deucalion squeezed tighter. No, Stiles thought, and maybe said aloud, he wasn't sure. He remembered what Morrell taught him: keep going. Keep going, he told himself. Keep going. What was the worst if not watching a friend he loved die in front of him? Stiles redoubled his efforts. But instead of imagining the blackness going into him, he imagined it floating up to the sky like smoke.

Lydia squeaked. She went still in Deucalion's grip but when he let her go she caught herself, settling on her knees, Stiles' hands still against her cheeks. He looked deep into her now familiar eyes and saw Lydia, only Lydia. Stiles was so mesmerized by her eyes that he didn't notice that he was bleeding faster, harder. He didn't notice that his body was so exhausted that if he was still human, he'd be dead. He didn't notice because of her smile. She said his name with that smile.

"Stiles." Lydia folded her hands over his. "Oh my God. I was so lost. The last thing I remember—"

"It's okay," he soothed. "I found you." He winced. His arms dropped into his lap and he wrapped them around his stomach.

"You're hurt." Lydia examined his stomach, then realized where they were and who was there. "Stiles, what – what's going on?"

"You'll be okay," he said. He was whispering, but not on purpose. "I..." Stiles shuddered. Blood dripped into the grass. And then, without another word, Stiles fell forward into Lydia's arms. He landed against her shoulder, his hands knuckles-down in the grass, unconscious. Déjà vu hit Lydia as he hugged him against her, just like she held Jackson's body all those months ago. The tears, too, were the same.

"Enough of this." Deucalion snatched Stiles out of Lydia's arms and dragged him to the van. Gerard held the back door open and the werewolf dumped the unconscious boy inside.

Lydia got to her feet, mouth open, protesting but unable to find the words. Helpless as the van started and pulled out of the driveway. Hopeless when it disappeared down the next street.

Half a second later, Derek drove Stiles' Jeep into the yard.

•••

Kali, the trees, everything looked red to Isaac's eyes. Red with anger.

Isaac chased Kali from the Hale house all the way to the cave she'd trapped him in just a few days before. What was left of it, at least: rocks that looked like they'd been arranged by an infant. It was on those rocks that Kali turned around. She crouched, bared her teeth and eyes, and roared at the young beta. Isaac slid to a stop and listened for his pack mates behind him. He hoped for two but expected one. When he heard no footsteps or heartbeats, and smelled no one familiar, Isaac still looked over his shoulder for back-up.

There was no one there. He was facing an Alpha alone. For a moment, Isaac considered high-tailing it back to his friends. But then he remembered Kali smacking Allison into the ground and his temper flared up again.

He attacked.

•••

"We're too late!" Scott rolled down the Jeep's passenger-side window. "Are you alright?" he shouted at Lydia.

Her only answer was to point down the street. "Left on Edwin. They're in a black van, license plate ARG 1701 – GO!"

Derek hit the gas pedal. He didn't obey the stop sign at the corner and turned onto Edwin at 40 mph. Three blocks ahead a black bumper turned right. Derek followed. They got close enough for their werewolf eyes to read the license plate: ARG 1701.

Scott crawled out through the window and perched on the hood of the Jeep like he was surfing on it. "Get closer!" he yelled at Derek. Before Derek could respond, the van screeched to a full stop so suddenly that there was no way to avoid it. The Jeep's front bumper slammed into the van's back, and Scott went flying into the rear doors. He left a Scott-shaped indent in the car before landing, unconscious, flat on his back on the hood.

Derek cursed. He threw the Jeep into park and kicked open the door.

Deucalion was waiting for him. Before Derek had time to wonder how incredibly fast the other wolf had to be to move from one car to the other in under two seconds, Deucalion lifted him up by his throat and smashed his head through Stiles' windshield.